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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23339023">Open When...</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimie_Chat/pseuds/Chimie_Chat'>Chimie_Chat</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Super Sons (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, Teen Titans - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Friends to Lovers, Letters, M/M, technically a slow burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:46:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,552</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23339023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chimie_Chat/pseuds/Chimie_Chat</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon leaves Damian with a box of letters to open whenever he needs them. Some for encouragement. Some for when he feels down. Each one, no matter how poorly written, filled with love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jonathan Samuel Kent/Damian Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. ...I leave you alone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The box appeared seemingly out of nowhere. </p><p>One day, after spending too much time frustratedly thrusting every sharp object he could get his hands on into any training dummy he could find, Damian finally retreated up to his bedroom, drenched in sweat and desperately needing a shower. His plan was to dump his athletic wear on the floor, leaving a trail of clothes across the floor, leading to his ensuite. Instead, as he kicked the heavy wooden door shut behind him, hands cross, grasping at the hem of his Under Armour tank top, his eyes caught a glimpse of something on his desk that was definitely not there when he’d left. </p><p>A scowl grew on his face. He <em> hated </em> surprises. He especially hated them when he was already in a bad mood to begin with. Yet here he was, face to face with a… box. A weird, random, wood box that was clearly homemade, seeing as the hinges on the back were screwed in completely unevenly. It was unfinished, pine laying completely exposed to the elements, save for blue paint smeared across the lid, and a poorly done cartoonesque heart taking up space in the top left corner. Underneath, thick black sharpie scrawled out the words <em> ‘Open When’ </em>. Damian’s eyes narrowed at the writing. He’d recognize that chicken scratch anywhere:</p><p>Jon.</p><p>Thus bringing him to why he was upset in the first place. Now, Damian Al Ghul Wayne understood the necessity to train better than more. He regularly preached discipline, and the obligation of other vigilante types to commit themselves to constant practice…. That didn’t mean he was pleased to see Jon leave.</p><p>That was the issue. His comrade, his partner, the one individual he <em> dared </em> to call a friend, just up-skipped and left for some sort of training exercise. There were several very large issues with this, the primary being that Damian had not been informed of this. How rude could you be? After nearly two years of devotion and teamwork, and this damned corncob couldn’t even be bothered to say goodbye? <em> Obviously </em> there was just no possible way he could, gee, I don’t know, need that stupid kryptonian hybrid? He couldn’t possibly have planned the majority of his group tactics on the presence of an eleven year old power house? Truly, this was just so inconsiderate. The second most prominent issue the young Wayne had with this, was that Jon hadn’t just gone into the mountains for a week. No, it wasn’t a simple trip to Smallville, consisting primarily of stacking hay bales, and building barns. No. Not at all. No, Jon had to go on an indefinite expedition <em> in outer space. </em></p><p>So yeah. Damian was a tad pissed off. Never in all thirteen, nearly fourteen years of his life, would he <em> ever </em> have left the planet without sending out a memo to his teammates. </p><p>The teen looked down at the box again and snarled. “Open when? Open when, what, Kent?” With a click of his tongue, he practically snatched the clasp that held the box shut, harshly flicking it open to see what could possibly be so important, that a shitty, oh-so-mysterious box would appear in his room. </p><p>Damian didn’t know what he had been expecting, truly, but he knew he wasn’t expecting… This.</p><p>Despite the box being approximately eight by eight by six inches ー twenty by twenty by twelve centimeters would be a more accurate measurement ー it seemed almost bigger on the inside, as it lay before him, absolutely filled with… envelopes?</p><p>Cards, letters of various different sizes and colors were stacked on top of each other in no particular order. Perplexed, Damian picked the stack up, filing through them and reading what had been written on the front. Firmly pasted in the top left corner of each envelope, without fail, were the words <em> “Open When…” </em>, while the center, which would normally contain some kind of address, seemed to complete the sentence.</p><p>
  <em> Open When… </em>
</p><ul>
<li>You’re angry</li>
<li>You’re upset</li>
<li>You’re sad</li>
<li>You can’t sleep at night</li>
<li>You feel alone</li>
<li>You’re frustrated</li>
<li>A mission goes wrong</li>
<li>You need a confidence boost</li>
</ul><p>The list went on, each handling a different subject matter. Damian counted fifty letters total.</p><p>This… This was absurd. How dare Jonathan leave such rubbish behind for him? What kind of stupid, sentimental garbage was this? That idiot should know better than to believe Damian was anything less thanー</p><p>
  <em> Open When… I leave you alone </em>
</p><p>...That’s not fair.</p><p>Damian tugged open the top drawer of his desk, removing a pair of scissors. He held them open before using the blade to cleanly open the letter, leaving the others to rest in the box. </p><p>He’d expected simple lined paper, low and behold, that’s exactly what he got. Three hole-punched, loose leaf paper tri-folded and stuffed into an envelope. How classy. Damian unfolded the note with a sigh. This could only be so good.</p><hr/><p>
  <em> Hey best buddy! </em>
</p><p><em> So, I’m sorry about all this. I don’t know what happened but I know I’m sorry. Did we have a fight? I hope not. I never was to fight with you. Obviously I know we play fight a lot and sometimes when we spare our punches feel a little more like we actually want to punch each other. But I am never really mad at you. I </em> <strike> <em>proms</em> </strike> <em> promise. I hope that you feel the same way because you are my best friend and I like you a lot. </em></p><p>
  <em> If we didn’t fight then I probably had to go for some reason. Chances are it was pretty <strike>importent </strike>important. I wish you could be with me. Missions are always so much more fun when you’re there with me. But for whatever reason I guess I had to go… You can go ahead and be mad at me if you want to. That’s ok. I completely understand, because I’d probably be pretty upset if you suddenly left too. I mean, I know that sometimes you just dissappear. That’s different though, ya know? Like, you do it and it makes sense and I trust you because you always think things through. Me? I’m smart, but I’m not as good at planning as you are. There! I admitted it! You’re better at me than something, so you can just go ahead and hold that over my head forever now. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Anyways. I’m sorry I’m gone, Damian. I really am. But I promise I’ll come back as soon as I can. You know I always do. I can’t let you be lonely without me for too long. I know how you get. Maybe you can go spend some time with the Teen Titans? Oh! Or you could practice hacking into the Justice League computers again! My dad told me that they’re gonna update all of their software, so maybe it’ll be a little harder for you this time. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Wherever I am in the universe, I bet I miss you a lot. I always miss you. You’re my best friend, so of course I do.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Take care of yourself, buddy! Try not to be too mad at people while I’m gone. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> See you soon! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> You’re best friend,  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Jon </em>
</p><p>
  <em> P.S. Make sure I didn’t leave any snacks that could go bad down in the Fortress of Attitude. Thanks. </em>
</p><hr/><p>Damian rolled his eyes at the letter. The grammar was god awful, and way too many letters had been scribbled over to try and correct spelling mistakes. What was the damn point of this? The teen bit into the inside of his cheeks as he crumbled the stupid letter into a ball, holding it clenched in his fist, before slowly unfolding it. He lay the paper against the flat wooden surface of his desk, smoothing out the new crinkles with the palms of his hands. </p><p>…..Apology accepted.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. ... You're Fristrated</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Just shut up!” Robin chucked a batarang with full force, the weapon barely passing by Nightwing’s head before striking the cave wall behind him, the blade wedging itself into the stone. The young teen was seething, anger flowing off of him as he glared at his older brother through his mask. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The outburst had drawn the attention of the others in the cave as well. Cassandra and Duke, who had been enjoying post-mission snacks, paused mid-cucumber sandwich to turn their heads. Even Alfred, who had been passing around a tray of much needed coffee, halted what he was doing, more likely than not to avoid becoming the victim of a runaway blade. The only person who didn’t turn was Bruce ー of freaking course he didn’t ー who was inputting notes into the mission file at the main computer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick raised his hands in defence. “Woah there. Damian, calm downー” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The thirteen year old ripped his mask off, before slamming it to the ground. “I didn’t do anything wrong! You know I didn’t. </span>
  <em>
    <span>They</span>
  </em>
  <span> know I didn’t!” He gestured towards the other member of Batman Incorporated, this sorry excuse for a family. “So why the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> can’t you just admit I did a good today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s always room to improve, Damiaー”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Improve, my ass!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He grit his teeth together. This was ridiculous. It had been a simple mission; pop into a warehouse, beat up some drug smugglers, turn them in to the proper authorities. Easy </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> peasy. He's gone, he followed orders </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfectly</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He didn't step out of line, didn't cross boundaries, even when it would have been so easy to. He was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect</span>
  </em>
  <span> Robin today. Which meant this absurd lecture he was getting right now was not only out of line, but downright insulting. "What more could you possibly want from me, Grayson? I did everything you asked tonight, with zero complaints, and a miniscule margin of error. Just admit that I did good, and leave me alone!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Damian, it's not that simple."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Like hell it is!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" The teen snarled. He tore his gauntlets off his arms, throwing them both to the ground. Maybe it would prove a point. Maybe not. That was unimportant at this moment. Damian glared up, meeting his brother's eyes with a scowl on his face, before deciding this wasn't worth it. He knew he was in the right. "Forget this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn't bother to stick around when Dick called after him. He didn't bother to see if his father was reacting in any way. Damian just left. He stormed out of the cave, as seemed to be the routine, fuming from the ears as he all but crashed his feet through the oak floorboards of the manor. Part of him secretly hoped he'd run into another one of his adoptive siblings so he could pick a fight. God, that's what he needed right now. He needed a fight. He needed to hit something; to smash something. He needed to grab his sword and turn every shrub and tree on this blasted estate into wood chips. Instead, Damian settled for slamming his bedroom door shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Aaaaaaarg!" He let out a scream, and paced around the space. Part of his uniform rapidly flying all over the carpet, landing in random pieces of furniture, before he was left in nothing but his underwear. While the burst of anger hadn't exactly calmed him down, slipping into silk pajamas helped. Only slightly, but help was help. "Stupid Grayson." He muttered under his breath as he flung himself onto that king-sized bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This sucked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Contrary to popular belief, Damian didn't like being angry all the time. It was exhausting. The chronic issue was that other people were simply infuriating, always catching his temper, setting him off in all the worst says. He was sick of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By chance, be it out of a need for comfort, or the desire for a better way to breathe than face shoved into an overstuffed down pillow, the fourteen year old turned his head to the side, letting his eyes scan across his room; over furniture, his own art on the walls, until it eventually landed on his desk. More specifically, a colorful wooden box that was kept neatly tucked into the back corner of his desk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. No it was stupid. There’s no way this could help…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian pushed himself up off his bed. This was ridiculous. He stepped over his desk, pulling the box closer to the edge and flicking the clasp open. He opened the lid and started flipping through the pile of letters his friend had left for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angry? No.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crying? Definitely not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Offended, embarrassed, hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know why he was even bothering, because there was truly no way there would be a letter forー</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Open When… You’re frustrated’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh… That was unexpected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian took the letter and went back over to his bed, climbing into it and making himself comfortable before cutting the envelope open.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey Dami!</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>
      <br/>
    </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>What’s up buddy? You doing ok? Well… I guess probably not, huh? I don’t know what happened or nothing but I’m whatever it is is bugging you. And you know what? That’s </span>
  </em>
  <strike>
    <em>pk</em>
  </strike>
  <em>
    <span> ok. Sometimes you just got to let yourself feel all the crummy, upset, nasty stuff for a minute, and just let yourself be mad.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dad tells me that when he gets all </span>
  </em>
  <strike>
    <em>fustra</em>
  </strike>
  <em>
    <span> frustrated that he’ll go for a fly around the world. I do that too now that I can fly! Before I could fly I couldn’t do that though. When Mom gets upset she usually starts reading those girl magazines from the grocery store. I think the trick is to just do something that calms you down! Something that makes you forget everything else in the world.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What makes you feel better, Damian? Other than training because I think you need to do something other than punching and sword fighting. Also… Usually you get frustrated after fights or missions that don’t go the way you want them to go so that probably wont help too much anyways. Maybe you need some ideas. I know you like music, and you like painting, and you like your animals. So maybe if you think about those three things then it will help you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Did ya think of something? I hope so. I hate it when you’re upset.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Take a deep breath. Relax your shoulders. Let yourself be not happy for a bit, then go do something fun. You’ll be alright soon. I know you will.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re best pal,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Jon</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>P.S. Try not to take it out on people you care about. </span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Damian let out a breath, letting his arm fall to the side, taking the letter with it. He stared up at the ceiling, letting his brain just think everything over for a minute. As much as he loathed to admit it, Jon was right. He needed to get out of his head space for a moment. Damian let his eyes fall shut, and just… Well, he did what jon suggested. He focused on his breathing, letting his lungs fill with air, holding it for a little longer than he normally would, and letting it out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something to do… Something to do… What could he do?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let out a sigh, rolling inwards towards the center of the bed, and looked at the letter in his hand, before letting his eyes fall straight. They tuned in to his violin, hanging delicately from it’s wooden stand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That would work.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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